Foul Wind
by lareepqg
Summary: After nearly a week out on patrol, Gunther finds himself missing Jane most wretchedly. He couldn't wait to sneak up behind her and steal a kiss at the faire- and perhaps receive one in return? He could already feel the warmth of her arms, the press of her li- Well. *ahem* All wishful thinking aside, he misses her. A contribution to the second arc of our story game.


_A/N: This story is a part of a series being written by the Jane and the Dragon fanfiction. A complete list of linked stories (Arc#1 and Arc #2) can be found in my profile._

* * *

Five days without Jane.

Five long, tiresome, boring days filled with tedium, a little too much sun, and some unfortunately sweaty britches. Five days and five nights with a troop of knights who seemed to have only brought hard tack, dry beans, pickled beets, and boiled eggs as rations. Men who, for some horrifying reason unbeknownst to Gunther, took every opportunity to share the results of their odd choice of diet with the youngest of their set.

 _Him._

His eyes burned just thinking about it.

The entire trip had been an odiferous and melodious affair.

Gunther thought the men, having been given a break from the feminine influence of their wives and unhindered by the absence of Jane, had flung all notions of refined behaviors and polite society to the wind.

Literally.

He missed Jane. Missed her quick wit and easy smile. Missed the way she'd tease him when his helmet made his hair stick up and then the way she'd screw up her face while trying to smooth it back down. Mi-

* _pooooooooooot*_

The man riding beside Gunther grinned broadly, proud of his latest creation.

Gunther urged his horse forward, hoping to escape the miasma.

They were disgusting, the whole lot of them. They would _never_ be so ...overt if Jane were here. Would they?

Though if truth be told, Gunther wasn't certain if Jane's presence would have made much of a difference. She had long since been accepted as a natural part of the knight's daily lives, was more or less welcomed by her comrades, treated as an equal part of their group. At least, most of the time.

The knights would have performed the same duties, laughed at the same jokes, complained about the same chafing, and made free with the same bodily...fluctuations. They might have been men -a disgusting group of men, to be sure- but first and foremost they were the knights and squires of Kippernia, and Jane was one of their lot.

It had not always been that way, of course. There were still some knights and guards of the castle, a few of which were in this group, who held firm to their beliefs. A sorry sort who clung desperately with scrabbling fingers and broken nails to the notion a woman could not, or perhaps _should not,_ be a knight. That by being female, Jane was somehow lesser or weaker or in some untenable way unfit to protect their hearth and home, even if it was her home as well. On more than one occasion one of these ignorant boors had seen fit to comment, to open his mouth and spew idiocy, only to find himself shouted down by another of their companions.

It warmed Gunther's heart. Jane deserved every accolade, did she not?

Gunther understood he was biased- how could he not be? He loved Jane with every fiber of his being- but to see how the men had not just accepted Jane into their fold but defended her honor with the fervor she deserved?

It was gratifying to say the least.

She certainly warranted the praise, the acceptance. Jane was kind and thoughtful; putting the needs of her family and friends before her own. She was giving in a way Gunther didn't fully understand; generous to a fault and quick to forgive- and wasn't she always the first to cite her _own_ imperfections when accepting others? Gunther couldn't help but love the way she went out of the way to bring outsiders into her circle, warm and lo-

* _pootpootpootpootpootpooooooooot_ *

Gunther gagged a little. _Mutton? When had they had mutton?_

The man riding point, the usually humorless, unsmiling lieutenant in charge of this particular patrol, turned in his saddle and gave him a wink.

 _Holy hell,_ he missed Jane.

Gunther reined his horse in, dropping back a bit.

Unfortunately, with the newfound _appreciation_ of Jane and her more recent exploits, came a general realization that Gunther and Jane held each other in rather _tender_ regard. A circumstance which resulted in a multitude of good-natured jokes, teasing, and more than a few embarrassing questions Gunther was not yet prepared to answer.

Or willing to answer.

But Jane wasn't the only one who -present or not- had found acceptance and a small amount of fame after Algernon's defeat.

Gunther had become a small celebrity in his own right, much to his consternation.

Thanks to the kingdom's newest and most regrettably popular ballad, Gunther found himself at the center of some _very_ unwanted attention, having been dubbed -and he was going to wring Jester's pale, scrawny neck when he got back to the castle- _The Poet Knight._

It was a good thing Jester enjoyed tragic tales so thoroughly, because as soon as Gunther caught the fool, he was going to experience a calamity of his own.

Gunther would have been hard pressed to put a number to the times he had been asked to sing or rhyme for the troop's entertainment, to compose some raunchy lymeric, or - _the horror-_ one man or another had approached him, presented Gunther with some ghastly, foul-smelling stench, and gleefully asked if he had the words to describe it in rhyme.

Oh, he had words alright.

Most of which he was saving for his idiot, ridiculously-hatted friend.

The rest he was saving for Jane, having already decided on the first few lines of his next poem. His fingers _itched_ to put them to paper, the need to transcribe his thoughts and feelings making him anxious. The words were _right there_ , waiting to be drawn out and set down in ink and parchment. Waiting to be coaxed out and sculpted into verse. Unfortunately, every time he thought to compose beyond the first few lines, Gunther would be interrupted by yet another round of dissonant feorting.

Jane may have been -for the most part- treated as one of the men, but Gunther was wondering if perhaps he'd been incorrect in his earlier assessment. Perhaps the troop would not have been so… blatant… in their emissions had she been present.

His musings reminded him quite readily Jane was _not_ on this patrol with him, and that he missed her most wretchedly. He missed her fierce temper, her lopsided smile, her sometimes unlady-like laugh, the odd little quirk between her eyes when she was concentrating, the lithe way she moved in a saddle, the way she smelled after washing her hair, the gentle curve of her neck, the dip and swell of her brea-

 _Ahem._

Well. Suffice to say, he missed _her._

Five days. Five long, lonely, days spent in the company of men. Six days and three hours if you counted the day the group had ridden out of the castle and today's morning, which had been _wasted_. Spent riding escort to a caravan bringing some much-anticipated goods to the castle.

It was too long.

He wanted to see her. _Needed_ to see her.

Gunther ached with it.

He was desperate to run his fingers along the callouses on her hands, up the freckled skin of her wrists. He needed wrap his arms around the narrow span of her waist and bury his face in the riot of her hair. To just _hold_ her there to _breathe_ in the vivacious scent of her; leather and lavender, mixed with the lingering aroma of Dragon's fire. It would be like falling asleep in the sun, or coming home to a warm fire on a moonless winter night. Gunther could whisper in her ear, and when she shivered in response, he'd drag his lips against the delicate skin of her neck to hear her sigh and lean into his waiting embrace. Gunther could almost hear Jane's soft, breathy moans; almost feel the tug of her hands in his hair, the fire of her nails as they scored his scalp-

"OY!" A knight's sharp bark jarred him out of his reverie. "He's got that moony look about him again. Any of you mates got somethin' brewin'?"

Five -nearly six- days. It had taken six days of raunchy, fragrant, fetid abuse by his _most obvious_ compatriots before Gunther put two and two together. Flushing crimson as realization dawned, Gunther took a deep breath and waited for the next - _deserved-_ onslaught from his fellow knights.

* * *

Gunther strode through the empty halls, the click-clack of his boot heels echoing on the tiles as he made his way to his room. If he was fast enough, he could clean up, grab clothes for the week, and surprise Jane at the faire. It had been years, _years,_ since he had been to a faire; never mind _enjoyed_ one.

This year he might actually have fun, so long as he was attending with Jane. Gunther felt a smile touch at the corners of his mouth. It wouldn't _technically_ be their first faire together. He and Jane had once visited a spring faire in each other's company, but that had been ages ago, when they were still children. They'd been assigned as additional guards for the prince and princess; it hadn't been _awful -_ there had still been players and acrobats and all sorts of small entertainments- but it hadn't been exactly _fun_ either. What little time he and Jane hadn't spent arguing amongst themselves _was_ spent managing the bickering royals.

Today's faire would be different. They were older, there were no ill-behaved children to escort, the sun was shining, it was a _beautiful_ day, and he could barely contain his excitement at seeing Jane. Gunther picked up his pace, a little _hardly_ noticeable skip in his step, anxious to ge-

"Gunther, boy. Do come in here."

Gunther's lighthearted humor, previously untroubled by worry or care, evaporated.

 _Damnit._

In his rush to perform his toilet, Gunther had completely forgotten these empty halls and rooms belonged to his father, and that he -despite his maturity and accomplishments- was still just little more than a servant under this roof. A trespasser in Magnus' domain; completely subject to his father's capricious whims.

He wanted to kick himself. Completely wrapped up in his desire to see Jane, he'd failed to remember that occasionally, when he had no business dealings or questionable schemes to oversee, Magnus would lurk in the quiet solitude of his study.

Which was, despite Gunther's aptitude with a quill and parchment, the most euphemistic turn of phrase he could produce for "drink himself into a stupor" or alternatively, "drink himself a bellowing tower of rage". The problem was, it was impossible to predict which he would presented with. Stupor would seem the safer bet, but Gunther had, on several occasions, been met with the worst-case scenario where Magnus had switched from one extreme to another, then back again, without any warning at all.

Gunther paused, wondering if it would be easier -nay- _better_ for everyone involved, if he pretended he hadn't heard his father's summons. Just feign ignorance and continue on about his business. If Magnus _had_ been drinking, nothing good could come of any conversation or inebriated parental proclamation. How long had it been since their last _unfortunate_ encounter? Five months? Six?

Gunther's face reddened at the memory. What had he been thinking, asking Magnus to explain such ...delicate topics? _Of course_ it had ended poorly. Magnus, his face blotchy and sweating, laughing so hard he nearly tumbled over with his intoxication. Excited at the prospect of a father and son outing to the local brothel. And Gunther himself, he felt his mortification burn anew, acutely embarrassed and no wiser for the asking.

"I know you heard me, Gunther. Come here boy. Do not make me ask you again."

Gunther rolled his neck, straightened, and entered his father's study. "Hello, father. Did you need something?"

"Do I necessarily need something to want to see my son?"

 _Well, on most occasions, yes._

Gunther hesitated, wary. In the dim light it was impossible to tell how far Magnus was into his liquor. The question was never _if_ , but _how much._ The decanter sat on the desk, its stopper in place. Past experience had taught Gunther this in itself meant little. More often than not, it meant the merchant had forgone the pleasantries of a glass and had been sipping directly from the crystalline bottle. Gunther remained cautious. It didn't _smell_ like liquor in here, and the room seemed to have been aired recently.

Magnus looked at him expectantly.

"Of course not. I was jus-"

" _You_ were just sneaking in and out of here, stealing in like a bloody thief in the night, as you have been for months now."

"I was hardly sneaking." The retort slipped out before he could quell it. _Ugh._ Gunther clenched his teeth. He knew -Gunther considered kicking himself again- he _knew_ better than to display any sort of behavior which could be construed as defiance. To present an opinion other than the one Magnus wanted to hear was often the easiest, quickest path to a lecture, a tongue-lashing, punishment, or worse.

"That is, I mean-" Gunther cleared his throat. Hopefully the situation was recoverable. His plans for the day had included surprising Jane, not _being_ surprised. Gunther had no desire to be ambushed by his father and roped into some questionable scheme or machination. "I have just returned from patrol, and I thought to clean up before coming to see you."

Magnus raised one bushy eyebrow, smirking at Gunther's discomfiture, but did not respond. He didn't have to. Here in the echoing halls of what Gunther supposed was his home, Magnus held all the power. If his father waited long enough, with said quirked brow or a mouth half-turned down in a frown, the fragile facade of independence with which Gunther shielded himself would crumble. Under his father's steely gaze, Gunther's sense of self, of adulthood, would shatter and blow away like so much dust, leaving him a child once more, and a chagrined one at that.

And even knowing that this was the inevitable outcome, Gunther was still helpless to prevent it. It made him feel small, weak; a small boy rambling about in an oversized body. Awkward and not fully in control of himself.

Gunther hated it. _Hated it._

Perhaps the direct approach was best. "What do you want, Father?"

Magnus stood and leaned forward, planting both hands on his desk. It creaked warningly under his prodigious weight. "Quite the hero now, are you not? You and that Turnkey girl." The last part was not a question, but a statement of fact. Magnus' smirk deepened, widened.

Gunther felt his hackles rise. Magnus wanted something, without question. If it had to do with Jane… well, nothing good was going to come of this conversation. He had better be on guard.

Relaxing his expression, Gunther made an attempt to shore up his own defenses, to put in place the invisible barriers which had served as his protection for so long. Mangus might be able to penetrate Gunther's armor with uncanny precision, but there was no need to make whatever underhanded plan Magnus was scheming _easy_.

"Father," he ventured cautiously. Careful not to betray his own nervousness. "Heroics had nothing to do with it. I was merely doing my duty to the king and realm."

"Do not play coy with me," Magnus gave him a conspiratorial wink, "that business with the kidnapping. It has come to my attention that perhaps a little _more_ than mere duty occurred during your," he chuckled as he searched for the right word, "adventures?"

Gunther said nothing, keeping his expression neutral. He had, with all the caution of a barefoot maiden in a cattlefield, sidestepped any mention of his relationship with Jane when recounting the happenings of last summer. He knew Magnus had been told, with great pomp and circumstance, of Gunther's heroic part in rescuing the princess by the king himself. But by some unanimous, tacit agreement, Magnus had _not_ been told, at least not by Gunther or his mentors, of his and Jane's relationship.

"I expect a straight answer out of you, boy. You and the Turnkey girl were alone together for days-" Magnus chortled, his eyes sparkling lasciviously. "Go on, you can confide in your own father, boy - how was she?"

A cold lump of dread settled in Gunther's middle. He and Jane had not yet consummated their relationship; they'd hardly had the time for a stolen kiss or two, let alone other ...activities. Not that Gunther had the slightest intention of discussing it with Magnus in any way, shape or form. "I- I am not sure I understand what you are implying, Father. Jane and I recovered the princess, and," he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to gather his thoughts, "that was all. As you recall, Jane was badly injured by Algernon and his men when they took the princess at the lake. After he was killed we both fell ill, and Dragon could not carry us both back in such weather. At least, not while fevered."

"Oh, I think you take my meaning perfectly well, Gunther." Magnus gave an exaggerated wink. "Fevered, yes, I daresay. Well, overheated anyway, eh? I hope it was at least enjoyable? Or was she still too worn out from the other one? That foreign Lord- I imagine, based on the tales I have heard, that he was not gentle."

Anger flared, hot and burning. Gunther could feel his armor slipping, which of course was exactly what Magnus wanted. Gunther took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, and shoved his outrage aside.

"Father, if you are suggest something .. _._ untoward happened, I can assure you it did not. Jane was able to free herself and mortally wounded the lord Algernon. Dragon and I arrived to find him bleeding to death, and merely sped along the process. As for the time Jane and I spent together, I was quite ill, _and_ we were both well chaperoned by a fire-breathing dragon. A dragon, if you recall, who is rather protective of his rider."

Magnus frowned, eyeing Gunther coldly. This was clearly not the response he'd been driving for. "You can explain it away however you like, boy, the fact is she is damaged goods now. After everything that happened, the time she spent in captivity and then alone with you - with an _animal_ for a chaperone, as you so charmingly insist - tongues are wagging all over the kingdom."

 _Were they?_

No. _No._ They were not. This was just his father's way of poking at Gunther until he got a reaction. A means to unsettle him so Magnus would be able to maneuver Gunther into a position where he would be useful for his own gain. Somehow, Magnus had found out about Gunther and Jane's relationship, and this ...conversation was a manner of directing Gunther towards some as-of-yet unseen end.

What it was, Gunther had no idea. Though he suspected Magnus would present him with an answer soon enough.

" _Lady_ Jane Turnkey is in no way, shape or form, damaged goods; as you so _delicately_ put it. She is a heroine, a title well-deserved because she has once again put herself in danger service to her kingdom. Jane sacrificed herself to a madman in order to save a child. A _royal_ child. She not only affected her own escape, but managed to mortally wound the villain who caused the whole mess. Wagging tongues or no, she deserves to be treated with the respect that would be due _any_ knight." Gunther's eyes narrowed. "I will not have anyone -even you, father- imply that she is anything but honorable."

Magnus pushed off from the desk and crossed his arms. He looked like a cat who had cornered a particularly small and vulnerable mouse. "So it is true. You love the girl then?"

 _Shite._

Gunther had, once again, played directly into his father's hands. "I- I- what makes you think Jane and I are anything but training partners, as we always have been?"

Magnus rolled his eyes.. "What makes me think? Gossip… tales… _songs_. You are a hero, boy! Not to mention the fact that no healthy young man your age would let such a _ripe_ opportunity escape him. Unless, of course, he was a complete addle-pated idiot."

Struggling for composure, Gunther attempted apply some sort of damage control to the situation. Clearing his throat, -it seemed a little too tight- Gunther said, "Jester's song exaggerates."

Magnus waited, knowing through long experience Gunther would eventually continue on his own.

"But yes, if you _must_ know, Jane and I are courting. Although I fail to see why this should be of such intense interest to you."

"Hm…" he hummed. His eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "I am not sure I approve of you associating with such a woman."

"What woman is that, father? Have I not been _associating_ with Jane since we were children?"

"Yes, but that was before she was _used_."

A growl, low and menacing, emanated from deep inside Gunther's chest. He opened his mouth to argue, to refute his father's disgusting accusations, but Magnus cut him off. "Calm yourself, child. Approval or not, I do believe we are in a rare and perhaps _lucrative_ position to quell some of the rumors -rumors now taken as facts by many- regarding the young woman's virtue."

 _Lucrative._

Gunther should have known. _Had_ known. This had nothing to do with Jane's reputation, or Gunther's for that matter. This little _audience_ was about his father's only real concern in the world: money.

"I very much doubt Jane needs you or I to quiet any imagined rumors. Even if they did exist, Jane does not care what others think, about her virtue or otherwise."

"Perhaps not," his father replied, "but her parents do; as evidenced by their _ridiculous_ ploy to shuffle her off to the highest bidder. I doubt anyone in the kingdom saw that for anything other than what it was - a desperate attempt to make a match for an unmarriageable daughter." Magnus chuckled a Gunther's expression. "I would venture the king and queen care as well. They have already stretched the limits of their tolerance for the Turnkey brat's ... _eccentricities_ by allowing the girl to train as a knight. I doubt they will continue to blithely support such a ridiculous folly if they find themselves under scrutiny because of Jane's behavior."

 _Jane's beha- her what?_

Certainly no one thought the kidnapping of the princess by the crazed Algernon, and Jane's subsequent rescue of Lavinia, had been anything short of noble?

Hell, Gunther had just spent almost a week in the company of men who -all good-natured ribbing aside- seemed to accept Jane, _and_ Jane and Gunther's relationship, as a matter of course.

 _Didn't they?_

"Stop, father." Gunther said, the slightest bit of desperation slipping into his voice. He had to get a handle, or hell, _two handles_ , on their conversation. To wrangle _some_ sense of control here before things got completely out of hand. "Jane's _behavior_ has been above reproach. She requires no assistance from _me_ -or anyone else for that matter- to save a reputation which does not require saving."

"I see." Magnus frowned, his mouth turning down in a calculated expression of disenchantment. "I cannot help but be disappointed in you, boy. I would have thought, that after your long years of association with the girl, and your very _public_ status as lovers, you would have felt at least _some_ fondness for the lass." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "So you do not want to marry her, then?"

 _Well, um, that is. Ugh..._

 _-yes_ -

Not that Gunther had devoted any time to thinking about such matters. Well, _maybe_ he had, but in an off-handed sort of way; the last few months had been nothing short of total chaos. He had been so swept up in current events he hadn't so much as really considered the _future._ It had been the present which concerned him. Jane and Jester's recovery, his own illness, the attention from the king and queen. The odd, uncomfortable but nevertheless reassuring approval of Jane's parents. His sudden unconditional acceptance as one of the knights. And then there was his _actual_ relationship with Jane. Hell, Gunther still woke up every morning surprised and euphoric that Jane had chosen _him_.

Gunther swallowed convulsively.

Magnus continued, this time not waiting for Gunther to formulate a response. "Because if that is the case, boy, it would be cruel to continue to lead her on. Ah, the thoughtlessness of youth. I have no doubt she's been _sheltered_ from gossip by her association with you." Magnus shrugged. "I suppose I could just offer for her, then."

Shock, then nausea, then anger pulsed through Gunther so fast, it left him lightheaded. He took an involuntary step forward, then stopped himself. Managing -by the narrowest of margins- to reassert control before launching himself bodily over his father's desk. He could feel that blankness, that red haze wanting to descend, but he could not allow it to.

Any physical reaction, short of actually killing his father, would result in disaster.

When the haze cleared, Gunther saw his father was grinning widely. By losing control Gunther had lost this little contest of wills, and Magnus exulted in his triumph.

"I see you are not especially fond of that idea." He laughed, unable to resist riling Gunther further. "You do not fancy the girl as a stepmother then? I daresay she would produce an ugly batch of siblings for you."

Gunther's hands clenched and released, his fingers twitching with suppressed rage. "Why would you want to, father?" he demanded. "What possible gain is there to be had from such a ridiculous notion?"

"Title, my boy!" Magnus waved his hands in the air imperiously, ignoring Gunther's obvious ire. "Entre into the nobility. Connections! Riches! Forced acceptance by the snobbish prats who look down on us as _nothing_ when we could buy their lands three times over. Who knows? Maybe some descendent of yours -or mine, if you prefer- will someday rule this backwater little kingdom."

Gunther's voice was flat. "You cannot marry Jane."

"Then I suppose you had better, boy. It will not be long before the Turnkey brat will be feeling the pressure from her parents once again. Especially if she begins to ...show."

Gunther shook his head, ignoring Magnus' last little jab. "Even if that were true, Jane would never marry me, or anyone, just to squash a few blatantly untrue rumors."

Magnus' voice dropped low. "Then I suggest you press the issue. Or, if you prefer I spell it out for you more plainly: make the conquest, Gunther -if in fact you honestly have not yet. Deep down, you know as well as I do you won't be the one deflowering the girl. _Secure_ your place, as her intended. Because if you do not, I, or someone else will."

Magnus sat down heavily in his chair. Pulling out his knife, he began the process of opening his correspondence. A blatant dismissal.

Gunther opened his mouth argue, to rage and storm against his father's disgusting manipulations- but what good would come of it? He did not have Magnus' ability to twist words and use them cut like weapons. He had no power here. Gunther closed his mouth with an audible snap.

With an expression of casual self-satisfaction, Magnus looked up from his task and gave Gunther a knowing sneer.

His gut roiling, Gunther pivoted on his heel and made his escape. Having completely forgotten his purpose for coming to the mansion in the first place, he made straight for the nearest exit point. It wasn't until he was back out in the sunlight that he even remembered his original intent. Well, the hell with bathing or changing clothes or _any_ of that. He wasn't going back in there. Was. Not.

He needed Jane, and he needed her now. This minute. _Now_.

He sucked in several deep, bracing breaths of fresh air, and turned his steps toward the faire.


End file.
